


When Again The Dragons Soar

by child_of_the_Sea



Series: Flight of Dragons [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: F/M, Legolas is stubborn, Major Character Disappearance, Tauriel can be sassy, This might move slow, Thranduil Is Nice, he is also very good at carving, none of the archive warnings fit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2018-12-26 13:38:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12060102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/child_of_the_Sea/pseuds/child_of_the_Sea
Summary: In the aftermath of Dol Guldur, other problems arise.On hold. Sorry. I ran out of written material and am currently writing the next chapter.





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Second installment in Flight of Dragons. Please don't kill me. Also, sorry about comment moderation on the last one. I hit the wrong button.

“For the last time, I am not getting up!” Tauriel yelled and buried her head under the pillow. She hated mornings. Especially winter ones.

“Come on, up you get,” Thranduil answered, rapping on her door again.

“It’s not even light outside. Leave me alone!” she answered, pressing her forehead against the mattress in a vain attempt to ease her throbbing headache. There was no light coming in her window, and so no reason for her to get up.

“I can take care of this.” she heard Legolas say.

 _Oh, dear,_ she thought. _He shouldn’t be up. He’ll hurt himself._ Tauriel dragged herself out of bed and slowly dressed. She brushed her hair down so it didn’t stick up four feet above her head in a felt-like mess and opened the door.

“See?” Legolas said. He was standing beside his father, arms crossed. His chest was bandaged.

Tauriel huffed. “Legolas! The only reason I got up is because you should not be! Now, back to bed with you!”

“Tauriel, I’m fine.”

“You were imprisoned for a month, only just recovered, you were stabbed between the ribs, and are in no condition to be up!” She poked him in the chest, causing him to wince. “ _Bed_!”

Legolas sighed. “Alright. But only because you might kill me if I don’t.” He turned and left, still limping. The Orcs had twisted his ankle badly and it had yet to heal.

Tauriel returned to her room and continued brushing her long fiery hair until it hung nearly to her feet. She twisted it up and stuck the hairpins in. Going to the kitchen, Tauriel plucked a carrot from the counter and, nibbling on it, went to the back bedroom. Legolas was asleep, as she had suspected, so she gently unbound the wound. It was healing, but not as fast as she liked. She packed it with more ather and bound it up again.

Ever since she’d rescued Legolas from Dol Guldur, things had been far from normal. Thranduil was visiting nearly every spare hour he had, because she could not return to the Mirkwood Halls. No matter how much he wished to the contrary, banishment was irrevocable. So Thranduil had been purposely spreading rumors to explain to others why she had not returned.

Legolas was in bed, or supposed to be, much of the time. Though, he never failed to ask if he could get up at least once a day. He’d figured out how to drive her utterly insane. The more annoying part was he put it to good use.

She herself spent much of her own time cleaning, sewing, and taking care of whatever affairs of state Thranduil asked her to do. It had to be the most boring occupation in Middle-earth, being a ruler; there was an endless supply of papers and whatnot to sign. As for her sewing, there were many windows without curtains and she had a mind to fix that.

Tauriel snatched her basket of fabric and went to the front room. It was either snowing or sleeting outside, so one could not tell whether the sun had risen or not.

Contacting Jolden, the dragon she had befriended in the past months, she asked, _Can you see if the sun has risen or not?_

 _Of course,_ he answered. Tauriel could feel the energy pulsing through him as Jolden flew higher, above the clouds. _Yes, it has, a few hours past._

 _Thank you._ She drew out her newest project and threaded her needle. Making a few quick stitches, she finished hemming the curtain. Pulling out another length of light cloth from her basket, she eye-measured three arrow lengths of cloth before cutting it with one of her daggers. She laid it out over her lap and folded the shorter end over an inch. After pinning the fold, she began making small, even stitches in the cream organza. Sewing quickly, Tauriel finished the other curtain and folded it. She tucked it into her basket and went upstairs.

Taking down the carved curtain rod in the open room, she strung the curtains on it and hung it up again. The curtains hung just as she’d thought they would. Tauriel gently arranged on the shelves the small wooden carvings Legolas had made. There were deer, falcons, and a few squirrels, all carefully fashioned from beech wood. He had also made delicate figures of elves and spiders for them to fight. Each and every carving had been stained with pigments to produce the exact color wanted.

Her favorites were the small figures of herself and Legolas, from when they were children. She had been an idiot at times, but Legolas had always pulled her out of the scrapes she’d gotten into, whether or not he had actually been involved in the first place. Tauriel supposed that was one of the reasons why she’d fallen for him. Well, that and his sometimes hilarious wit. He could talk circles around anyone if he wished to.

She hung her curtains in the other six rooms, each on the rods Legolas had carved for her to pass the time by. Running back down the stairs, a rather unwise thing, Tauriel scooped up the other items she’d been sewing. Just as she was about to run back up again, Thranduil grabbed her arm and stopped her.

“Are you sure that is wise? You could trip running so fast.”

Tauriel shrugged off his hand without answering him and ran up the stairs two at a time. She darted to one of the rooms at the end of the hall, not sure why she felt like running.

Pulling one of the beds down, she laid one of the sheets that she had made on the bed and tucked it in. She did the same with the second bed. Tauriel pushed them back up into the wall, one with each hand. Suddenly the storm outside seemed to flicker, letting in the smallest amount of sunlight before becoming even darker than before.

 _Life is calm now, but I have a feeling something is about to happen._ she thought, dusting her hands off for no particular reason. She felt a sudden fear sink its claws into her chest. Yes, that was it. Something was going to happen, something big. And she had no way of predicting what it would be.


	2. Traitorous

Legolas picked at the stew Tauriel had made. He wasn’t hungry, but she insisted he eat, so he was doing as she instructed. He tried a bite of it. Not bad for a first attempt, according to what she’d said. He finished the food, set the plate on the table beside his bed and lay back carefully, listening to the sleet drum against the windows. Night was setting in, according to the dragon Jolden. Tauriel had introduced them earlier that day. He’d apparently saved his life, though Legolas remembered none of it.

Suddenly, he noticed a strange, almost papery, taste in his mouth. He sat up quickly, finding himself strangely lightheaded. His throat tightened, restricting his breath. Coughing hard, he managed to call for Tauriel. He heard her running footsteps in the hall. An object materialized in his throat, cutting off the air completely.

Tauriel burst in and ran to him. “Legolas, what is wrong?” she asked in a panicked voice, though he could barely hear her.

Unable to answer, he rubbed his throat. She nodded. “Relax.”

Legolas could feel his lungs burning from lack of air and his sight was beginning to blur. Whatever Tauriel was planning to do, she had better do it fast.

She pressed her hands at the base of his ribs and shoved so hard it hurt. Stale air rushed up his throat, dislodging the object. He spit it out, coughing.  Tauriel gently rubbed the back of his neck, easing his breath.

“What happened?” she asked, the panic in her eyes fading to worry.

“There was something in my food. It was papery almost; it made my mouth dry.”

Tauriel shivered, closing her eyes. “Stya flower.”

Legolas gave her a quizzical look. “What is that?”

“Elfbane,” she answered. “Most likely mixed with another poison to increase potency.”

Legolas had heard of elfbane. A flower that was used by others as a healing herb, but to elves, it could kill.

“Who would do that?” he asked, stunned.

“Someone who wants you dead, nin mel,” she answered, standing. “I don’t have to make guess at it, either. I know who it is, though I cannot divulge the information at present.” She took the plate and left.

Legolas nodded. Who would want him dead? A traitor, no doubt, but there were none.

None that he knew of, was apparently closer to the truth.

  
  
  


Tauriel was shocked that any elf, or even any of the other races that populated Middle-earth, save for Orcs, would dare make an attempt at killing Legolas. Not even Althen would go that far. Such treachery would certainly cost them banishment, forbidden to enter Mirkwood Forest for the remainder of their lives. And if the plot succeeded, it meant certain death for all parties involved in his death. 

Then she stopped. When they were children, Althen had used as many tricks to avoid Thranduil’s anger as there were trees in the forest. He would go that far, with an adequate reason and a solid alibi.

Already formulating a plan, Tauriel went to her room and took out her whetting stone. Sharpening her daggers as she thought, she decided that sneaking in to spy was the strongest branch to climb.

She set her whetting stone aside and gazed down the blade. Straight and even. She lowered the dagger and felt the edge. She yelped, partly in surprise, as the edge cut her slightly. “That’s sharp enough, I believe.” Tauriel said to herself. Allowing her hair to spill down her back, Tauriel sheathed her daggers at her waist, where they were easier to reach, rather than in her hair.

Reaching out with her mind, Tauriel contacted Jolden, who was hunting over the north of Fangorn. It was a stretch for her, but Jolden reached for her once their connection was established, reducing the drain of her magical energy.  _ Jolden, can you fly me to the Mirkwood Halls? _

_ It would be dangerous,  _ the dragon warned,  _ But if you need, I will fly you as close as is prudent for me. _

Tauriel smiled. She’d known the dragon would help.

_ Help with what?  _ Jolden said.  _ Tell me, elfling. _

Tauriel sighed.  _ Someone tried to kill Legolas. I have some suspicions and would like to see if they are true. Satisfied? _

_ Quite,  _ Jolden replied.  _ I’m coming. _

Tauriel cut off their mental contact. She needed to learn how to contact someone without them hearing what she didn’t want them to. Legolas knew the trick, yet refused to tell her, saying she could learn it herself. She knew it had something to do with the fact that she’d discovered this ability to establish contact with another’s mind many centuries ago.

The heavy thud of Jolden landing sounded outside. After telling him she’d be there in a minute, Tauriel clasped a light cloak at her throat and bound her hair up. She murmured a short spell to make it look closer to brown then the dragonfire red it truly was. Slipping on her leather boots, Tauriel hung her bow on its hook behind her door. It would only hinder her. She changed into her tunic and leggings, simply to make it easier to climb and ride on dragonback.

Not bothering to use the door, Tauriel climbed out her window and scrambled up Jolden to the saddle she’d made for her own convenience. After strapping herself in, Jolden took off.

Instead of soaring above the wood as usual, Jolden wove in between the trees, avoiding spiders and the sleet. Tauriel kept low, so her cloak covered all but her feet. The spiders apparently did not see her. Good.

Jolden landed softly and lowered his neck to let her off.  _ Be careful.  _ he whispered to her mind, as it was too dangerous to speak aloud.

_ I will.  _ she replied.

Slipping quietly along among the trees, Tauriel soon saw the gateway into the hill that marked the entry to the Elven Halls. But how to get in?

The problem was solved for her. The Sylvan Elves arrived just then and the gate was opened for them. Tauriel slid out of the brush and followed them.

One of the elves saw her and asked in the Sylvan tongue, “Who are you?”

The other elves turned toward her, giving her questioning looks. Though she understood perfectly well what the elf had said, she chose to reply in Sindarin. “Im ceri- ú- heni- cin.” she answered, tilting her head.

“Man are cin?” he asked in broken Sindarin. He was obviously not familiar with it.

“Im tur- ú- on- nin est-,” Tauriel replied. “Im must kena i aran plural erain or erein.”

“Im will take cin na hon.” he answered, swapping in Sylvan words for the Sindar ones he did not know.

Tauriel gave an inward smile. He would take her inside but she would be watching for when Athlen left, and follow him. But she had not lied. She did need to see Thranduil and tell him of the evening’s events. Yet she needed to satisfy her suspicions first. Easily done.

The Sylvan Elves allowed her to pass in front of them, as she had only concealed her voice enough to keep her identity secret. and courtesy dictated so. When they entered, she saw almost immediately Athlen slipping to the edge of the group. He left silently, but Tauriel marked the hall where he left. It was long, so there was little danger of losing sight of him. She stopped and gasped, as if she’d forgotten something.

“Man na- ha?” an elf asked, looking uneasy.

“Im am missing nin magol. Darth- please, ir im get ha.” Tauriel said, stepping slowly toward the rear of the group.

The elf nodded. Tauriel turned and left as if to go back through the gate. But when the elves looked away, she slipped away down the hall and hurried after Athlen.

Athlen looked both ways along the hall, making Tauriel duck out of sight, and then opened a door and snuck inside. Tauriel followed. After leaping silently into the rafters of the room, she listened.

“Did our plot succeed?” another elf asked, walking into the light of a single candle.

Athlen shrugged. “We won’t know until tomorrow. King Thranduil keeps a close eye on me, so I will have to leave at night and be back before dawn. And avoid every sentry in my way.”

“That will be hard. Are you sure you want to do it?” the other elf asked.

Althen scowled at him. “Do you want to be captain of the guard or not? If we want to succeed, we have to take the risk. We have to follow the plan.”

“What is the plan?”

Athlen sighed in frustration. “I will tell you for the last time. The plan is to earn the king’s favor, get him to banish Tauriel-”

“Already done.”

“ _ Quiet!  _ Then, once Tauriel is out of the way, we kill the prince, saying the spiders or something similar did it. And then once Thranduil goes to exact his revenge, we ensure he goes alone with me. I kill him while we’re out. We claim that an Orc got to him before I could kill it. After that, we say that Thranduil told me I could rule when and if he died. The elves set me up as king because there is no one to argue. Then our aims are achieved. Any other questions?”

“What if the poison does not work?” The other elf had fear in his eyes, and rightly so. Athlen’s plan could, and very well would destroy the kingdom. Not to mention, Athlen was quite frightening.

“Then I will kill the prince myself.”

Tauriel simply could not believe the extent of Athlen’s treachery. Killing the king? He had to be warned. She waited, listening a bit more. Then Athlen took a fresh vial of stya, the before conversation revealing it was in case the previous dose of poison did not do its work. The he left. Tauriel leapt down softly and followed him back.

A sharp yell came from the gates. Athlen started, then stared running. Tauriel walked behind him. He was going to the gates so there was no reason for her to hurry. When she did reach the gates, she saw several dead spiders in the nearby trees. What had happened? Spiders were  _ never _ that close to the gates. And these looked burnt. Strange. Jolden’s work maybe? No, not him. He 

But she put it off her mind. The Sylvan Elves brought her to Thranduil and she touched his mind to let him know who she was.

Thranduil nodded and waved his hand at the Sylvan Elves, dismissing them. He beckoned to her, and she followed. He led her to his private quarters and locked the door. “You may uncloak yourself now.”

Tauriel nodded. She pushed back the hood of her cloak. “I would not come here if there were not urgent news, my lord.” she said, bowing her head in respect.

“I know.” he answered. “What is it, Tauriel?”

Tauriel sighed and related all the events past. “And Athlen is a very dangerous person. I listened to him talking to one of his underlings. He means to kill both you and Legolas and take over Mirkwood. I do believe his choices will destroy the kingdom.”

“How tur- im ú- gar- saira?” she heard him whisper. “How could I not see it?” He closed his eyes, shaking his head slowly.

“It is not your fault, Thranduil. We all fell for his tricks.” Tauriel said, placing her hand on his shoulder.

He sighed and squeezed her hand gently. “Yet once he knows you are still here and that you know of his plans, he will kill you, and he will not depend on a poison to do it. He will kill you himself. You are not safe in Mirkwood any longer. I know that you know of safe places you can go. Leave Mirkwood soon. I will send word when it is safe for you to return.”

“But what of Legolas?”

“As far as I know, Tauriel, none of the Sindar have been tainted by Athlen’s treachery. Have your dragon bring him here.” He turned to face her. “Do not worry for his safety. I do not want him dead, either.”

She nodded. “I will tell Jolden. And, may I take a horse? I do not believe there are many who would be indifferent to a dragon.”

Thranduil chuckled. “Of course. You may go now, if you wish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sindarin Translation:
> 
> Im ceri- ú- heni- cin. - I cannot understand you.  
> Man are cin? - Who are you?  
> Im tur- ú- on- nin est-. Im must kena i aran plural erain or erein. - I cannot give my name. I must see the king.  
> Im will take cin na hon. - I will take you to him  
> Man na- ha? - What is it?  
> Im am missing nin magol. Darth- please, ir im get ha. - I am missing my sword. Wait please, while I get it.


	3. Prophecies

The steady beats of the horse’s hooves striking the ground beat out a steady rhythm as Tauriel rode toward the Lonely Mountain. It wasn’t necessarily the safest place she could be, but it was safer then the Greenwood. Possibly safer.  If Balin, she thought was his name, remembered the conversations between her and Kìli, and two of the other dwarves, she didn’t know their names, remembered when she had healed Kìli of the Morgul-arrow’s poison, they might let her in. There was a small chance, but it was there.

When night fell, the Mountain rose high on the horizon, only an easy day’s ride. Tauriel lit a fire and wrapped herself in her cloak. The wind was ripping across the plains; it would be cold that night. She lay down and pulled the hood of her cloak over her head. Tucking her arm under her head, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

She woke a few hours later to the sound of harsh shouts. Without opening her eyes, she lay very still.  Then she sat up quickly, holding her daggers in a defensive position.

“Who are you?” a harsh voice asked.

Looking up, she saw a dwarf, standing a little more than four feet tall. He was bald on the top of his head, but had a ring of brown hair around his head and a generous beard, . One of his two axes was pointed at her, the other held across his torso in defense.

“Answer me!”

“Tauriel, formerly of the Woodland Realm. Currently without home.” she answered, lowering her daggers and sheathing them to show she was not a threat. Hopefully.

He humphed and lowered his axes. “Balin! We found the owner of that horse. But you might want to see.”

A white haired and bearded dwarf, a few inches shorter than the other, came to stand by him. “Did she say what her name was?” he whispered, but Tauriel easily picked up on what was said.

“Yes. Calls herself Tauriel. Also said she no longer serves the Elvenking.”

Suddenly Balin broke out in loud laughter and left off any attempt to dampen his tone. “We have nothing to fear from her if my suspicions are correct. I know that name!” he choked out, finally slowing. “Don’t you remember, Dwalin? Kilí could hardly keep from talking about her! Thorin could barely shut him up!”

“Well, if that’s the case…” Dwalin answered. Then he chuckled.

“Well, I don’t suppose talking to her would bring any harm then, would it, Dwalin?”

The other dwarf grumbled about it, but there was a smile in his eye.

  
  
  
  
  


“Who are you?” A younger dwarf stood in front of her. He had a rather short beard, slightly reddish in color,  compared to the dwarves she’d seen before. His eye was bright and he did not fear her, as many of the other dwarves did. She remembered him; he was one of the dwarves they’d captured.

“My name is Tauriel.” she answered, rather unsettled by his indifference and even interest in her, instead of anger and enmity. Kilí had done the same.

“Back away from her, Ori.” another dwarf said. He was gray-haired and a bit taller then Ori. A faint smile touched her lips. The tone of his voice reminded Tauriel of Ayana fussing over Legolas. 

“Why should I, Dori?” Ori asked, his bearded face showing confusion.

“She’s an  _ elf _ . She could be dangerous.”

Tauriel sighed. Why could the dwarves not ask why she was there and be done with it? “Im will ú- harm cin, norn.” she said, amused by the looks of confusion that showed on all dwarves’ faces.

She translated. “I will not harm you, dwarf.”

“I don’t believe you.” Dori retorted.

Tauriel tried not to snicker. “Of course you don’t. I have given you much reason to not trust me, though I would like to earn your trust if I can.”

He stared.

Then she heard Balin laughing. “Well played, lass. Very well played. I believe you will enjoy your stay here.”

A gasp brought her attention to the far right corner of the room. Another dwarf stepped forward. He had frizzy hair, darker gray then Dori’s, and a bent ear-trumpet. “I remember you!” he said pointing at her. “You healed Kìli!”

“Correct.” she answered. “And, I can also do this.” She snapped her fingers. “Now you should be able to hear quite well without that, Herdir Norn.”

He lowered his ear trumpet and listened to Ori and Dori, still quietly arguing. He laughed. “Everything is clear as a bell! Many thanks to you, lass!”

“Might you tell me your name?” Tauriel asked.

“Óin, at your service!” he replied, giving a sweeping bow.

“Well then, Master Óin, since you seem to enjoy talk of herbs and such, perhaps would would be interested in seeing my healing kit?”

Dori stepped forward and turned to Óin. “Don’t fall for it. It’s a trick. Once she has us all in her clutches she’ll hand us off to her king. And then where will we be?”

Óin shoved Dori to the side and nodded to Tauriel.

Tauriel sighed and turned to Balin. “Dori always sees the worst possible in everything, doesn’t he?”

Balin nodded. “I’m afraid so, lassie. But you get used to it.”

She nodded back. “And, Dori? I was banished, so though Thranduil still regards me as his subject, he is no longer my king.”

He huffed. “I don’t believe you.”

Tauriel shrugged. “You never will.”

She whistled for her horse. He came trotting up to her and nuzzled her shoulder. She scratched his neck and began pawing through her saddlebags. She finally found it, buried deep under the many odd items she had brought with her. She dragged out her satchel and sat cross-legged on the stone floor. She laid out the contents and Óin knelt, looking over them with great interest.

“What do we have here?” he asked.

Tauriel pointed at several gold flowers. “These are sprigs of ather, which is a healing plant similar to athelas. This”—she tapped a bundle of dried leaves—“ is serelsis. I don’t really know what it is used for, but some mix it with poisons to increase potency. It in itself is not poisonous and is actually quite tasty.  I nibble on it from time to time.”

“What’s this?” Óin picked up a single white flower on a slender stalk.

Tauriel shivered. “That is stya flower, commonly known in Greenwood as elfbane.”

“So it’s a poison.”

“To elves it is. Dwarves and men use it as a sedative.”

Óin nodded and set it down. “So once you have the plants, can you just use them?”

Tauriel shook her head. “No. Ather has to be boiled and made into more of a salve before it can be used. Serelsis can be used straight, but I don’t know what to use it for. Stya I just keep around. I actually mixed some with the athelas when I healed Kìli to help keep him calm.”

Óin stood and nodded. “You certainly have an impressive collection, lassie. I could show you mine one of these days if you’re planning on staying awhile.”

“That I am. But right now”—she yawned—”I’m really quite tired.”

“And we have room for you, lass. Follow me.” said Balin.

Tauriel nodded and followed.

When she woke the next morning, she did not feel like getting up. Her room had no window, none of the underground rooms did, allowing her to sleep in. She was surprised to find that the dwarven fabric was really quite soft. Tauriel opened her eyes and examined it closer. It wasn’t fabric; it was fur, animal fur! The thought disgusted her. The dwarves killed animals for food and used the furs. Awful.

But it was how the dwarves did it, and she was in their culture now. She would have to get used to it. Pulling herself up and out of bed, Tauriel dressed. As she was brushing through her hair, someone rapped on her door. “Tauriel, are you up?”

“Yes.” she replied. “You may come in.”

The door creaked open. Her mirror revealed it to be a quite rotund dwarf, with hair and beard nearly the same feisty red as her own locks. He bowed. “Bombur, at your service, lass. I was told to fetch you when you were ready. King Dáin wants to see you, and Balin says to hurry.”

Tauriel gasped and dropped her brush. The dwarven king wanted to see her?! “Master Bombur, do you have any idea why he would? Want to see me, that is?”

The dwarf shrugged. “No, not a clue. But I wouldn’t worry. As long as you’re respectful and let Balin do most of the talking, you’ll be fine. But when you are addressed directly, answer promptly. And, make your answer witty if you can.”

Tauriel nodded and reached for her comb, only to find Bombur already had it and was making quick work of the snarls. “There you are, lassie. Now, hurry, quick as you can.”

She nodded again and began braiding her hair along the side of her head, working quicker then usual. She asked Bombur to hold it and set to work on the other side. When both braids were finished, she fastened them in place with her silver clip. After parting her hair carefully around her ears. “I’m ready, Bombur.” she said, standing.

“Good,” the dwarf replied. “Now hurry, lass, hurry.”

Tauriel followed Bombur down a maze of twisting tunnels to the room they had met in the day before. Balin and Dwalin were having a whispered argument in the corner. She carefully twitched the tips of her ears to catch their speech.

“I’m still not sure we can trust her.” Dwalin said, fingering his battleaxe, and glaring at her out of the corner of his eye. “Balin, are you certain she won’t betray us?”

Balin sighed. “I know you doubt her loyalties, Dwalin. But elves take their honor very seriously. She would not betray us and risk being named a traitor among her own people.”

Dwalin huffed, his eyes revealing he was still not convinced. “Why would-”

Balin looked up and waved a hand for his brother to be silent. “Ah, you’re ready, lass. Good. We should hurry, as Dáin does not like to be kept waiting.”

Tauriel nodded. Maybe it would be best to follow the advice Bombur had given her. She’d never met Dain Ironfoot, but she’d heard he wasn’t fond of elves. Threatening to split Thranduil’s head open, as he’d put it, was certainly not a sign of friendship.

When she entered the throne room behind Balin and Dwalin, she could not believe the scale of the room. Enormous statues stood on both sides of the room, some with replaced limbs or heads. She could only tell because of thin lines distinguishing the stone. Otherwise it was masterfully done. A long flight of stairs rose in front of them. Tauriel mounted them behind Dwalin.

At the top of the stairs, she saw Dáin. He sat on a stone throne carved straight into the base of a pillar rising to a massive stalactite. Looking closer, she saw the stalactite was webbed with veins of crystal. Dáin himself was a stout dwarf with a red beard draped over his knees. He bore a sad expression, as if the past battle fought a year ago still troubled him. He looked up when the group, consisting of Balin, Dwalin, Óin, Dori, Bombur, and herself, he frowned slightly.

“Balin, what business would bring an elf to the Kingdom under the Mountain?” he said, his voice rumbling like the boulders that sometimes fell down mountains in the center of Mirkwood.

Balin bowed. “She has asked to stay with us for the time being, Dáin.”

Dáin huffed. “How do we know she won’t betray us?”

Balin listed all the reasons he’d said to the other dwarves the night before.

Dáin sighed. “I still don’t know, Balin.” he answered. “What about you, lass? What reasons do you give for being here?”

Tauriel shivered, thinking fast. No matter how many times she was caught in situations like this, she was still taken by surprise. Best start with the truth. “I was caught in an unsafe situation in Mirkwood and was advised to leave. I knew that the Lonely Mountain would be safer, and so I am here.”

“The forest must indeed be perilous if a kingdom of dwarves provides refuge for an elf.” Dáin said. “Is that all, elf? I find it hard to believe you were not sent by your king.”

She answered, “I do not have a king, as I was banished before the Battle for the Mountain. But, yes, it was Thranduil who advised me to leave, my lord. Yet he does not know where I am, as I did not tell him.”

Dáin laughed. “You seem witty, lass. But I see no reason for you not to stay, at least for a few weeks. What is your name?

“The other elves call me Tauriel, my lord.”

Dáin stood. “Balin, she will stay for as long as she needs. But, keep her away from those who have more than a distrust of elves. Simply as a matter of safety.” He walked down a short stair to their level. “Welcome to Erebor, lassie.”

Tauriel smiled. Now she was glad for the daily interrogations she used to receive from Thranduil about what had happened on her patrol that day. They helped her stay sharp and answer quickly.

But now she was safe, and that was that.

  
  
  
  


Tauriel returned to her room, tired. After the audience with King Dáin, Balin had given her a lecture on places and dwarves to avoid, as well as how to keep from angering those who she did encounter. To her, it made little to no sense.

She collapsed onto her bed and pulled one of the furs—it still disgusted her—over her head. She wanted to sleep, but someone was rapping at her door.

“Who is it?” she said, more then a little irritated.

The door creaked open. “Ori. I came to ask if you wanted to see the library. If you don’t right this minute, I can come back later.”

Library? She pulled the fur off her head and answered, “How far is it? I don’t feel like walking too far.”

Ori stepped into the room. “It’s not far. But if you want to sleep, then-”

“No, Ori, it sounds like something I might enjoy.”

The young dwarf smiled. “Get your cloak then. It’s pouring rain outside.” He backed toward the door. “I can leave for a moment, if need be.”

Tauriel smiled. She snatched her cloak from her bedside. “Nay, you needn’t. It’s just warm under here.”

She fastened the cloak and tossed the fur to the foot of the bed. Ori smiled. “You seem eager.”

Tauriel followed him out. “Yes. I have read all the books held in Mirkwood and long for something new.”

“New? Oh, you’ll find it, lass. You’ll find it.”

He led her out into the pouring rain to another tunnel entrance. Shouting over the noise, he said, “We would enter from inside, but the library grew so big it was moved to a different tunnel system apart from everything else. So it escaped the dragonfire when Smaug attacked both times. You’ll find everything from when Erebor was first founded up until now. You’ll find any and every book on any subject.”

She nodded.

When they entered, Tauriel was stunned by the towering shelves full of books carved straight from stone. She could barely reach the top shelf if she tried, they were so tall. There were enormous books as thick as her hand. There were slim ones with barely enough room for the title. Some were bound with gold edges and locked clasps; some had a mere leather binding. The library itself extended down winding tunnels far out of sight.

“Tauriel?”

“Yes, Ori?” she asked, still enthralled.

“What do you want to read? I can find it for you.” he answered. “These shelves are dwarven legends and stories. Down the tunnel there,” he pointed “are records of Erebor and Dale. I read some of them myself and didn’t find them very interesting. The next to the right holds more legends. But they focus on older things. I don’t think you’ll like them. The one to the left of the records keeps history. I myself have never been there, but I have been told it has many things and not just dwarven history.”

Tauriel smiled. History books had been the first ones she’d read as a child. “I would like to see the history books, Ori, unless there is something you think would be more interesting?”

He nodded. “This way, then.”

He showed her to the room and began pulling some books off the shelf for her. “Here you go. I think you’ll enjoy these.”

Tauriel took them and flipped open the first.

Tauriel found that she could not get enough of those books. Every day, Ori would join her in the library and pull several books off the shelf for her, unless he couldn’t reach. In those instances, she would pull down the books he suggested. She would do all the book-hunting herself, but the intricate passageways of the dwarven library confused her and she could never find anything.

About a month after she’d come to Erebor, Ori joined her in the library as usual. But this time he’d brought Balin with him. “Good to see you lass.” Balin said. “Ori asked me to join you.”

Ori had a sheepish look on his face. “I hope you’re okay with it. I forgot to ask.”

Tauriel laughed. “It’s perfectly fine with me.”

Balin smiled. “I brought this with me for you to read, lassie.”

Tauriel set the handsbreadth-thick book on the stone table and flipped it open to the middle.

Suddenly a wind began to blow through the chamber, despite the fact the walls were solid rock. The pages began to turn of their own accord, faster and faster. It stopped in the exact center of the book. A slip of paper was lodged between the two pages. Tauriel pulled it out and unfolded it.

“What does it say?” Ori asked, peering over the letters.

Tauriel studied them carefully. “These are Tengwar letters, a High-elven script. The language is Quenya, spoken by the Noldor in Rivendell and Lothlorien. It reads  _ Fasse ve narwa ve runya -o rámalóce, Hendu ve calima ve jewels; On ráma -o laurië nénar i moriquende-fíriel flies. _ ”

“What does it say it the common tongue?” Balin asked.

“In this speech it says,

_ Hair as red as flame of dragon, _

_ eyes as bright as jewels; _

_ on wing of golden star _

_ The elf-maid flies. _ ”

“I do believe it might be talking about you.” Ori said.

“What?” she said, startled.

“The first line is a bit obvious. Any who see you would agree your hair is the same shade as dragonfire.”

Now Tauriel was able to make the connections on her own. Legolas had once remarked that her eyes sparkled like the stars. And the light of the stars was as precious to the elves as jewels.

“But what about the ‘wing of golden star’?” Balin asked, “To the best of my knowledge, stars cannot move.”

Tauriel laughed. “No, Herdir Balin, they cannot. But it could be referring to something else. Ori, do you know where a book of military tactics might be?”

Ori nodded. “Yes, but why would you want that?”

“I’ll show you.”

When Ori returned with the book, Tauriel flipped it to a section on fighting dragons. “Look here. It says, ‘If one is of extreme fortune, one may encounter a southern dragon. These are known to defend the Free Peoples, but have not been seen for at least two ages of this world. You will know them by their scales that flicker like stars when exposed to light.’ It’s not what I was looking for, but the rhyme must be referring to a golden dragon.

“Also, this must be an extremely old book to have that information. I could search for as long as I pleased among elvish books of the same, and not find a thing. And,” she tapped the letters, “I can barely read this text. It’s old and unfamiliar to me.”

“But you couldn’t find any of those dragons, could you?” Ori asked. “It said they’ve disappeared.”

“Not quite.” Tauriel related to them the tale to how she’d met Jolden. “He does appear to have a coat of stars when he flies at night. That leaves only one question. Who wrote this? It was written by someone familiar with both the Quenya tongue and the Tengwar form of writing. Thusly, it must have been a Noldor. But they must have known that there were still some of these southern dragons and that one of them would be golden in color. No elf with any sense in their head would come that close to a dragon of any type in they could help it. And as for how it got here, why it was written and who wrote it...”

Balin said, “I know of someone who may be able to answer those questions. A healer called Mamina lives in the depths of Mirkwood Forest. She is an expert at old legends and such. Take that slip of paper and ask her. She’ll know. But, don’t go just yet, lassie. I really came to tell you that Dáin has made you one of his subjects. You’ll be free to come and go as you please and won’t be subject to any of our laws, as you are also a citizen of the Woodland Realm. But now, you’ll find you’ve earned a lot of respect to change Dáin’s mind about the Elves, or at least yourself.”

Tauriel smiled.

“But first,” Balin stood and laughed, “We’re going to spread the news! Come on!”

“Where are we going?” Tauriel asked, bewildered.

Balin chuckled. “You may not think it right for a lady, but it’s the best way to spread news. But you needn’t worry. We’ll leave before it gets too rough.”

“Rough as in  _ drunk _ .” Ori commented.

  
  


Though Balin and Ori’s words had her imagining the worst, the public house was clean and noisy. Dwarves swarmed around tables, carrying mugs of beer and mead. Many greeted Balin with loud voices. They did not seem to notice her, as she had donned her cloak again. Laughter was everywhere.

Balin led them to the counter where Dwalin was waiting. “Ah, brother! I was going to order a mug of last year’s clover mead for you and a beer for Ori. What’ll you be havin’, lass?”

“Nothing, Dwalin, but thank you for offering. I prefer the milder wines of my home.”

The bald dwarf chuckled. “I can get you that. Barmaid!”

A shorter dwarf sporting a neat blond beard hustled over to them. “What are ye drinken, sirs?”

“Two beers and a honey mead for us, and wine for the lady.” Dwalin answered.

The barmaid nodded. “Which wine would ye like, Miss?” she said, looking at Tauriel.

“The Dorwinion wine or something similar, please.” she answered, trying to make her voice sound rough. She didn’t push down her hood, despite her instinct to.

“A’course, Miss. We don’t ‘ave what you specified at this time, but we ‘ave got sometin’ close to it. Would that be sati’factriy?” the dwarf asked. 

“Yes, it would.”

She set two mugs of beer on the counter. “There ye are, sirs. I’ll be straight out with the mead and the lady’s wine.” She bustled away.

Tauriel stared after her, regardless of the constant reminders she’d received that it was impolite. “So that is a female dwarf?” she said in a low tone to Balin.

He chuckled. “Yes. Not what you expected?”

“Far from it. Are all your ladies like that?”

Balin did not answer, as the barmaid had returned.

“There’s the mead and wine for ye.” the blond dwarf said, setting a third oaken mug and a different cup on the bar’s counter. “No coin required for companions of Oakenshield. It’s free.”

“I insist.” Dwalin replied, setting a substantial amount of money in front of her.

She pushed it back. “Nay, my lord. No payment needed.”

Tauriel chuckled to herself as the two dwarves continued to barter over how much he should pay.

Dwalin and the barmaid finally agreed that he should pay for Tauriel’s wine at least, since she was not a former member of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. But she noticed he slipped payment for everything else into her pouch of coin anyhow.

“So, to answer your question,” Balin said, distracting her. “No, many dwarf women are quite different. Some are like her, but most others are more like our men.”

“Stubborn, strong, and more than capable of making fools of themselves?” Tauriel commented, remembering how the Company had behaved when they had ‘visited’ the Elven Halls a year before.

Balin laughed. “Yes, yes. But finish your drink, lassie! The night is young and you may very well have many more before the night is over. Though, first, I must do what I came to do!”

He stood on his chair and began banging his already empty mug against that sounded like wood. The public house instantly quieted. “I have news!” the white-haired dwarf shouted. “There is another dwarf in Erebor! Though, this young lady shares no dwarven blood. The Elf Tauriel has earned the respect of King Dáin and has been made an honorary Dwarf. A formidable warrior, she is, and if any should choose to trifle with her, they do so at their own expense!”

The other dwarves laughed, raising mugs of beer in a toast. But one rose from his chair, quite sober in contrast to his bleary-eyed companions. “How do we know it’s true?” he shouted above the noise and quieting the crowd. “How do we know you ain’t stonedead drunk?”

“Because she’s right here!” Balin shoved the hood off Tauriel’s head and pulled her to her feet with surprising strength. She rubbed her sore shoulder as she turned to face the crowd. “Tauriel, warrior of Erebor!”

She shoved Balin’s hand off her shoulder and sat down again, saying, “If this is your method of spreading news,  _ thilivern-fin norn _ , then I would rather have had Dáin announce it himself and embarrass me in front of all Erebor.”

Balin took her hint and didn’t say anything more on the subject, but the other dwarves gave into boisterous laughter. That night, and many nights after, the dwarves devoted many, many hours to talk of the red-haired elf.

A hand on her other shoulder shook her from her thoughts. “We had best go, lass.” Dwalin whispered in her ear.

Tauriel nodded and set her cup on the bar counter. “Thank you for your hospitality.” she said to the barmaid.

“Ai, it was nothin’.” the female dwarf answered. “Do come again though, grand lady.”

The noise from the public house quieted once Ori closed the door behind the four of them. “I’m glad we were out of there before anyone had any more drinks.” he said.

Tauriel creased her brow in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“No one in there was drunk. But once they are, it’s no place for a lady.” Dwalin shook his head, fingering his two axes that he’d placed on either shoulder.

Tauriel shivered. “Well, that’s the last time I do something like that, Balin.” She glared at him.

“Don’t worry, you won’t. Partly because you should return to Mirkwood soon. If you want answers, it would be best to leave before the deep snow sets in. And, my apologies. I forgot you are not used to the kind of…”

“Brash behavior?” Tauriel offered.

“Yes, that. Im verui sorrui, meld híril.” He bowed.

She smiled at his understanding of the Sindarin tongue. “Im díhen- cin, Balin. And thank you for everything. I will leave in the morning.”


	4. Returning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to finish. Thank you to all my lovely readers, especially those who stuck it out and were patient with me. Here is your reward, even though it's short. If, however, you cannot stand cliffhangers, I would wait until I post chapter 5, as there is a large and evil cliffie at the end of this chapter.

Tauriel gently tucked her few belongings into her saddlebags. She would miss Dáin’s hospitality. But Balin was right. Once deep snow set in, it would be impossible to leave until nearly May. Still…

She slumped against her horse. She was so confused. The past two years had been so crazy. Between the Battle for the Mountain, banishment, Legolas’s capture and subsequent injury, Azog, Kilì’s death, and dealing with Athlen, she hadn’t simply sat down and done nothing. Not that she wished to at that moment, but her life was just so hectic. She needed peace for a few seconds.

“Tauriel?” She turned. Ori stood behind her.

“What is it, Ori?”

He sighed. “I was talking to Dáin, and he told me to give you this.” He handed her a small pouch. “Just to avoid another war between Elves and Dwarves.”

Tauriel understood better when she opened it. “The Gems of Lasgalen. You want me to give these to Thranduil.” She fingered the delicate mithril chain, beaten ever so carefully.

He nodded, watching her tuck the necklace beneath the clothes in her saddlebag. “It doesn’t matter when. But,” he answered. “we’ll miss you, even if your stay was short.”

She smiled. “I understand.”

“He’s right, lass.” Dwalin spoke from the other side of her horse. She stood on her tiptoes and peeked over the top of the bay. He leaned on one axe, hands crossed. His expression was sorrowful, but in a warrior’s way. Still, as ever, stern and unmoving. “We will miss you.”

“As will I, but I must ride swift and far if I am to make it home before the first deep snow.”

Ori patted her arm. “Ride then, and please don’t get stuck in the snow. Dáin might have second thoughts about rescuing you.”

She laughed. “I suppose you are right. I will ride fast then, and maybe if I get stuck, it will be Thranduil’s problem by then.”

Dwalin chuckled as she mounted her bay mare. “Goodbye, lass.”

Tauriel waved goodbye, urging her mount onto a canter.

As she rode toward the gates of Dale, she noticed many, dwarf and Men, who stopped what  they were doing to lower their heads in respect. Even as Captain of the Guard she had not commanded so much honor.  _ Things work very differently here. _ she thought.

 

It only took a few hours of travel before she saw the eaves of the forest in the distance. Though she could easily reach the forest by nightfall, she wanted to leave plenty of time to navigate the trees and the spiders contained within them. It was dangerous territory at any time, but more so at night. Besides, she had to pick her path carefully. If she ran into Athlen, he would kill her for certain.

She stopped close enough to the forest to see what was in the trees, but not so close that she could be attacked by surprise. Keeping her presence a secret was something she had been forced to perfect. Her life often depended on it.

As she gathered wood for a fire, the bay horse she had been lent began tugging at its picket line. It knew something was wrong. Staying calm, Tauriel set the firewood down and began to arrange it, then lit it once she’d finished. But, she carefully twitched her ears to catch any sound at all made in the forest. 

A slight rustle to her left jerked her hunter’s discipline to life. It was footsteps, more than one set. The patrol was either trying to surround her and failing, or trying to sneak past her, and also failing.

“If you’re trying anything that requires silence, you failed.” she called out in the direction of the patrol.

Athlen’s cruel chuckle was the last thing she expected. “What if we weren’t?”

Tauriel kept her rapier behind her back. It had been cleaned and sharpened during her visit, and she’d devoted just as much time to practicing with it as she did in the extensive dwarven library. Unless there was something else amiss, she should be able to hold her own long enough to escape.

“You suspect a trap.” Althen slid out of the tree, pinning her with his gaze. “You would not be wrong.”

“Because you are a traitor and a spy.” she answered in a biting tone.

He pressed one hand to his chest, appearing offended. “Harsh words, my lady, h arsh words! Surely you do not mean it!”

She gave him a smoldering glare. Yes, she meant it, every word. She wasn’t about to tell him straight, though. If there was one thing she had always done better than Athlen, it was word games.

“Of course I didn’t.” she answered him, assuming a contrite expression that was completely fake.

“No, you did not. You would never insult your superior, would you?”

_ I know what game you’re playing, Athlen. It’s not going to work. _ “No I would not.” Her submissive posture was even more false than her expression. The curved blade of her rapier hung just behind her leg, a snake waiting to strike.

He calmly circled her, not noticing as she moved her blade just out of his limit of vision. “You are my superior, yes?”

Athlen smiled cruelly. “Of course I am. No one would be subordinate to a lowly Silvan elf such as yourself.”

Tauriel chuckled under her breath. Jolden had told her that she outranked all of her former comrades, simply because she had a dragon on her side. They could only give her orders if they had the larger beast. “How large is your  _ draja _ then, Athlen? How much dragonfire do you command?”

“Only a traitor to the crown would command a dragon, Tauriel. Did that dwarf warp your senses, or are you going insane?”

She dropped the ruse, becoming a hiding killer instead of a submissive servant. Again, he failed to notice the change.

“No, there you are wrong.” She swung her blade, narrowly missing his shoulder. It carved a deep cut into his cheek.

He drew his own blade to defend himself, but he was a court elf. Fighting was not his strength, but it was hers. Two thousand years of training, then six hundred more of hardcore battle. She knew how to fight.

He thrust, but his stance was off balance and his swing weak. She didn’t bother to parry, knowing it wouldn’t, couldn’t reach her. 

She made a series of quick thrusts to his chest, knowing her sword was made to stab, not cut. Which was why she was unafraid to parry, but only did so when absolutely necessary.

“You would kill me?” Athlen asked, face a picture of confused anger.

“Yes.” she hissed. “You would destroy our realm and kill our king. You deserve death.”

He sneered at her. “Well, then I have one thing to say.” His blade swung faster than she could counter and neatly sliced across her ribs. “Goodbye.”

His next move was to stab her abdomen.

  
  


Jolden jerked his head up as pain and fear flooded across the mental bond with his little-stubborn-two-legs-pointed-ears-partner-of-his-heart-and-mind. Then her consciousness fell away, leaving an unwelcome emptiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't see that coming??
> 
> (Haha, Quicksilver reference) ;)


End file.
